Snow Wars
by OverThexM00N
Summary: The documentation of an epic battle of wits and snow between Mark, Roger, Mimi and Collins. It's pretty much just a bunch of adults in a longterm snowball fight. Chapter six!
1. The War's Beginning

**Disclaimer:** You are what you own. I am not Rent. Therefore, I do not own Rent.

**A/N:** I'll probably just make this a somewhat fluffy series about Collins, Roger, and Mark having their little sophomoric snow wars.

Mark stumbled out of his bedroom, groggy from just waking up, clad in only a wifebeater and a stolen pair of Roger's plaid pants, despite the frigid atmosphere of the loft. He spotted a plate of pancakes on the table, luring him towards them with their somewhat pleasing scent. Stomach growling like an irritated beast, Mark approached the pancakes cautiously, then picked one up, sniffing at it. The pancakes looked innocent enough, but Mark had learned many times before that looks could be deceiving. Whether they were good or bad all depended on who made them.

Mark took a timid bite and, to his dismay, crunched a bit of eggshell embedded within the fatefully unfortunate mouthful. Roger must have whipped up this batch, but whether he had intended to poison Mark with salmonella or just randomly make breakfast was unclear. Wincing as he reluctantly swallowed the lump of only partially cooked pancake batter, Mark glanced around the loft. "Hey Rog, are you awake?" he called into the silence, disposing of both the plate and its contents, as though the pancakes were so horrid they had contaminated the dish beyond repair. "We need to have a talk about these pancakes."

Little did our dear little Marky know that his roommate was very much awake, as was Collins, and both of the older men were crouched beneath the table. Somehow, either as a result of his natural lack of common sense or the fact that he hadn't put his glasses on yet, Mark had failed to notice the two as they whispered and giggled to one another like gossiping preteens, though the two collectively wore fifty pounds of winter clothing and stood out quite a bit. Mark's oblivion had finally worked to their advantage.

Roger was the first to venture out, slinking like a snake along the kitchen floor towards his victim, who had his back to him as he hovered over the garbage can, carefully observing the pancakes lest they mutate and come alive. Collins followed soon after, and the two were mere inches away from Mark while Collins said, "Wait for it… wait for it…"

Mark jumped at the sound of Collins's voice, and he didn't have enough time to even acknowledge their presence before the two boys sprang, Roger grabbing Mark's wrists and holding them firmly to keep him from squirming. Totally disoriented, Mark felt his legs give way beneath him, and Collins snatched this opportunity to grab hold of them. Mark's roommates then proceeded to lug him out the door and down the stairs, carrying him as though he were a human sacrifice.

Once outside, the two men brought him to a side street, where sidewalk shovelers had failed to notice the accumulation of snow there. Mark's attackers were earning peculiar looks from the strangers they passed, and a few people even paused to watch the two men curiously as they carried the skinny and scantily-clad blonde to an unknown, but most likely cruel, fate.

Roger stationed himself before the ally, eyeballing the particularly large mound of snow only feet away. Collins laughed in a demonic tone as he tightened his grip around Mark's ankles. Mark simply went limp in their grip, knowing that any further struggle would be a fruitless attempt to free himself. He let out what resembled a squeak when Collins's spoke. "Ready Roger?"

From Mark's awkward point of view, he could just make out the guitarist's mischievous grin. "I've been ready all morning."

"Well then, let's get this over with," Collins said, beginning to swing Mark. "One."

This was Mark's cue to scream; the sound came out embarrassingly high. "Two," Roger said, swinging Mark as well.

"Three!" the two shouted together, simultaneously releasing Mark, who became airborne and soared towards the enormous snow pile, shrieking the entire time.

Mark hit the snow with a soft thud and immediately vanished beneath its surface, leaving only an imprint of himself behind. Collins burst out laughing the very second Mark made contact with the mound, but Roger had managed to contain himself, merely showing his amusement with a goofy, crooked smile. As soon as Collins calmed down a bit, Roger turned his eyes to the pile of snow, slightly larger now, as it began to move a little. "Now that that's settled," he said slowly, pulling his lips back into a malicious, almost wolf-like grin. "Let's make sure he stays in there."

---

Mimi had stepped out of the apartment building to observe the snow that had amassed overnight, sipping at a mug of coffee. She heard scattered laughter off to her right and was surprised to find that a crowd had gathered at the mouth of the alleyway. Curious as to what all the commotion was about, she stepped over daintily, without any shoes or slippers on.

"What's going on?" she asked, but the group had begun to disperse, having filled their quota for the day's amusement and getting back to their lives' normal activities.

Mimi pushed past the handful of people that remained and peered into the alley, appalled to find that Roger, his nose and cheeks now red from such long exposure to the cold, was patting down an unusually shaped pile of snow as Collins kicked up more snow at the mound, as though he were a dog burying a bone. "Roger Davis!" Mimi shouted, the volume of her voice rising with each consecutive word. "What on earth are you doing out here in the cold?"

Roger spun around, his smiling face reduced to a face of sheer guilt. He stood up, taking a few steps towards Mimi like a dog with its tail between its legs, fearing punishment and knowing it was inevitable. Sensing his nervousness, Mimi knew at once he had done something wrong, and she began to walk towards him, stopping by the mound and staring him straight in the eyes. "H-hey, baby," he said nervously, averting his gaze from her's to Collins, who ceased to push more snow on the pile and stood up as well. "We just decided to, uh, you know… enjoy the snow?"

"You hate the sn-" Mimi paused mid-sentence, glancing at the pile she had previously disregarded as it began to tremble. "Earthquake?" she blurted out.

Roger turned towards the mound, a look of faux shock on his face, hoping it would convince Mimi he had nothing to do with it. "Oh my God," he exclaimed as the mound exploded into a flurry of powdery snow, revealing a nearly blue Mark, who rushed towards the first source of warmth: Mimi.

Before Mimi knew what had struck her she was clutching a violently shuddering Mark against her. Taking a few seconds to come to her senses, then a few more to wonder how Roger and Collins could possibly be so stupid, Mimi snapped at Roger. "What the hell is WRONG with you?" she exclaimed, petting Mark on the back of the head as though he were some poor animal tortured by the two savages that stood before her.

Collins was nearly in hysterics; it was his idea in the first place, and Roger was the one getting in trouble, even though Collins didn't mind a little scolding now and then. Roger, on the other hand, saw the situation as anything but funny. His victim was now in his girlfriend's embrace, and he felt the scalding stab of anger. He began to tremble with the effort of holding it back, but Mimi mistakenly took this involuntary action as a sign of oncoming hypothermia. "I can't believe the stupidity of you men," she said, earning another laugh from Collins and nothing but intense silence from Roger. "Now get inside before you two turn into icicles. People like us shouldn't even be out in the cold."

Still trembling, Mark clutched onto Mimi, just vaguely aware of who she was; he could have been clinging to a random passerby and he wouldn't care, as long as he had someone or something to leech warmth from. Mimi simply kept her arms wrapped around him as she made her way back to the apartment, with coos of "poor baby", leaving Roger and Collins to follow. Collins slapped Roger on the back, but Roger, who was still struggling to keep his anger down, smacked his hand away. "Chill dude," Collins said, taking no offense to the action. "Heh… get it? Chill?"  
It was so stupid it was actually funny. Roger laughed a little, feeling the tension in his muscles loosen a bit. "That asshole," Roger said, a little jokingly, but a little serious as well.

"The snow's not going away anytime soon," Collins said. "There will always be a chance to get your revenge."

"Hmm… you're right," Roger mused aloud, his voice slow and deliberate. "We'll need to strategize. I'll call you tonight and we can come up with a plan."

"I like that idea," Collins said, pausing a while to stroke his chin; a smirk then crept onto his face. "Let the snow wars begin."

Roger smirked slyly, saying nothing in reply, but simply walked out of the alley.


	2. Backfire

**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

**A/N:** Here's the second chapter. I can't say that the following chapters will be up as fast as this one was, but I seem to have a steady stream of inspiration this week. So enjoy it, as I've enjoyed writing it, and look forward the Chapter 3! REVIEWS MAKE ME HAPPYYYY, by the way.

---

Floating, soaring, in a dreamy abyss of serenity and peace, as if submerged in a warm bath. Soft pastel

colors and vague yet comforting sounds from all directions. Enveloped in a pocket of protection, snug and pleasant, content with just being. That is, until the snow started to pour in, coming in overwhelming quantities all at once.

He was then paralyzed, trapped, as the snow hardened into ice all around him, chains and restraints of cold hard rock, stinging his skin with a bitter chill. The mind said to move and the body yearned to writhe from the discomfort, the feeling of helplessness, but the action would not happen. Helplessly frozen, literally and in more ways than one, he decided to test his vocal chords, the last thing he could possibly think of and probably his only hope. Deep breath, hold it in, then a scream, ear-shatteringly loud, but also ice-shatteringly, as his icy confinement burst into thousands of indistinguishably tiny shards.

---

Mark rolled out of bed, the dull thud letting his only partially conscious mind know he had just made contact with the hard wooden floor. Lying there numb, staring cross-eyed at the blank wall inches from his nose, with its pale wallpaper peeling at the corner, Mark almost forgot to breathe. He gasped slightly, coughing a bit before grabbing onto the side of the small crate that served as his bedside table. Arms and legs shaking like those of a newborn calf, Mark lifted himself up, using the crate as his support.

He stood there a while, giving his lungs some time to breathe more calmly and his heart a chance to return to a healthier rate. Once his body relaxed a bit, he turned, only to have his heart launch into another series of sporadic palpitations when he bumped into Roger. "Oh my GOD, you-" Mark paused, gradually remembering what had happened that morning when he caught sight of the smirk on Roger's face. "… _you_."

"Hey buddy," Roger said through his teeth, playfully punching him in the arm, though a little harder than Mark considered necessary. "How're you feeling?"

Mark leered at Roger. "A bit better now, thank you very much," he said coldly, wondering what kind of heart someone could have to traumatize someone else and then ask them how they're doing.

"I brought you a glass of warm milk," Roger chirped, the eerie grin never leaving his face as he set the cup down on the side table, Mark eyeing him all the while.

"I'm lactose intolerant."

"Oh. Yes, of course. How silly of me to forget. Let me get you something else. Water, or maybe coffee?

Mimi must have forced him into this. Roger wasn't one for random acts of kindness, let alone partial

servitude, especially after a day like today, where his need to make others miserable, particularly Mark, was stronger. Perhaps Roger did come to Mark's room of his own accord, but maybe his intentions weren't friendly at all. He knew when Roger had something up his sleeve; he would grin that phony grin and talk without actually opening his mouth, lest the truth of his plans leak out without the barrier of his teeth to hold them back. Mark wasn't fooled by this act, but his knew very well that it wouldn't kill him to play along with it for a while.

"We've got coffee?" Mark asked. "Well, coffee would be wonderful."

"I'll get right on it," Roger said, removing the glass of milk from the crate's surface and exiting Mark's room, walking backwards and watching Mark until he left his sight.

Yup. Something was definitely up.

Mark stood in silence for a while, surprised to find that he was staring at the doorway almost fearfully. Why should he be frightened of Roger? Sure, he had practically assaulted him this morning, and that left Mark with a legitimate reason for suspicion, but _fear_? It was ridiculous. Maybe this was just Roger's way of showing his guilt, though Mark wasn't entirely sure Roger _had_ a conscience. His thoughts were interrupted by a cheery voice drifting in from the kitchen.

"Markyyy," Roger called, the sing-songy tone of his voice sending shivers down Mark's spine. "Could you give me a hand real quick?"

Stepping gingerly towards the egress of his room, he peered into the kitchen area at that safe distance. Roger wasn't visible from where Mark stood, so he shifted over a bit, but Roger was still out of sight. Telling himself incessantly that there was no need to be afraid of Roger but failing to believe himself, Mark took a couple more tentative, cautious steps, reluctantly leaving the comfort and safety of his room behind. "Y-yeah Rog?"

He nearly jumped when Roger suddenly appeared before him like an apparition, his gaze immediately locking with Mark's. "The coffee should be ready soon," he assured Mark, his grin never wavering. "But could you do me a favor and check the freezer?"

"The… freezer, Roger?"

"Yeah, the freezer," he repeated, and for the first time since he had entered Mark's room, Roger broke eye contact. "Check and see if we… have ice cream."

"Ice cream? Why ice cream?"

Roger was starting to get frustrated with Mark's questions, but he kept up the façade of pure glee; he'd only need it for a few more minutes, that is, if Mark would cooperate. "I think Mimi's hormonal, so I thought I'd surprise her when she comes home from work with a sundae," he said. "You know how girls crave sugary shit when they're, well… you know all about that, doncha Marky?"

Mark rolled his eyes, but he felt the tension between him and Roger ease a little bit. Roger was making fun of Mark, which was a sign that this actually _was_ Roger, the human Roger, not some robot look-alike planted in the loft to spy or steal what little food they had.

Walking over to the refrigerator, Mark realized he was letting his guard down. "Hey," he said slowly, glancing over at Roger as he stood there, clearly unoccupied and completely capable of getting the ice cream himself. "Why do _I_ have to get it?"

"Because, uh… be-… uh…" Roger stammered, his fast-tracked mind fluctuating for a few seconds, but suddenly he was struck with an idea. "Coffee! Gotta get the coffee!"

"No, I'll get the coffee, Roger," Mark insisted, darting towards the counter. "You shouldn't have to do so much for me, it's not like I'm an invalid or anything. Go on, _you_ get the ice cream. I can manage coffee."

"No, Mark, really," Roger said flatly, his voice finally losing that forced tone of gaiety. "You. Get the ice cream. NOW."

"No, Roger, I-"

"MARK, JUST GET THE FUCKING ICE CREAM."

"Roger, I insist."

Amidst Roger's screaming and Mark's determined refusal to open the freezer, Mimi had returned home unnoticed. Seeing as things were normal (Roger bursting the eardrums of their neighbors while Mark remained totally calm and steadfast, which succeeded in making Roger angrier), she walked into the kitchen area. Watching them for a few moments with a slightly amused smirk on her face, she turned to the refrigerator, then glanced up at the freezer. "Hmm, I wonder if there's any ice cream left…"

At the sound of Mimi's voice, Roger ceased his argument with Mark, turning just in time to see Mimi reach up and grab the freezer handle. "No!" he shouted, but too late.

Mark spun around too as Mimi pried the freezer open, unleashing an avalanche of snow that someone had managed to pack into the freezer. Mimi fell to the floor as the snow poured out in a seemingly never-ending tide, and once the influx had come to a halt, Mimi stood up, powdery snow clinging to her hair and clothing. The look on her face was anything but happy. "Rogerrr…" she purred, though it was more of an irritated growl than a purr.

Roger, with his arm still outstretched with the lost hope of pushing her out of the way of the trap he had set for Mark, swallowed. Mark, overwhelmed with combined feelings of relief, and, in spite of himself, amusement at Mimi's bad luck, slinked behind Roger and headed back to his bedroom. The last thing he heard was Mimi screaming, entirely in Spanish, to spare Mark's ears from the profanity, at a befuddled Roger.

Mark still wasn't quite sure what was up with Roger, but he knew that he must be in some quasi-war with him. But over what, he hadn't the slightest clue. Well, if war was what Roger wanted, war was what Roger would get. However, as he settled into his bed, tMimi's screaming voice wandering all around the apartment as she chased Roger, accompanied with the assorted sounds of various objects smashing, Mark figured he didn't need to strategize for this war just yet. He'd take tonight off, for he knew Roger wouldn't have the time to make any further preparations either; he would be too busy dealing with Mimi, and she was enough.


	3. Yellow Snow

**Disclaimer:** Not miiiiineeee.

**A/N:** With this new chapter, I bring you some Collins/Angel fluff. Fluff's always fun. Chapter four should be fun to write, I'll get right on it! I hope you enjoy this chapter while you wait! Oh, and try to guess what Collins's plan is, it shouldn't be too hard, haha.

---

It was a crisp morning in January, and Collins and Angel were out early speculating the goods of the flea market. Angel picked up a small pink bunny doll with a human face and, turning to Collins, held it up with a very serious expression on her face. "Isn't this just the most hideous thing you've ever seen?"

Collins nodded, for he was a bit preoccupied this morning, trying to think up a new strategy with which to redeem himself. Ever since Operation: Avalanche had backfired, Roger's disposition was more dour than usual, towards Mark, his enemy, Mimi, and now even Collins, his own ally. Now, as Angel fluttered gleefully over a set of china, Collins merely smiled, focusing a majority of his attention on trying to find some inspiration for a new plan.

As they left the flea market, Collins walked alongside a smiling Angel, carrying the small box that concealed the china set Collins had purchased for her. Angel linked her arm onto Collins's free arm and grinned at him, but his thoughts seemed to be elsewhere. Pouting, Angel averted her gaze forward again and suddenly squealed in fright as a dog leapt out from behind a cluster of garbage cans, upsetting a couple of them. Collins nearly dropped the box of fragile items at the sound of Angel's yelp, and he turned to comfort her only to find that she had disappeared behind him.

"It's Evita come back from the dead!" Angel shouted, clutching at Collins's shoulders and bunching up the fabric of his coat.

Collins couldn't help but laugh as the dog stood there with its head cocked to the side, wagging its tail in the most non-violent manner possible. Angel, furious that Collins would laugh at her, smacked him in the back, and for the second time he nearly dropped the box of china to the ground. "Look, Angie, it's just a little puppy," he said as the dog fell awkwardly to its side while trying to satisfy an itch with its hind leg.

"Puppies can be rabid."

"I know a rabid animal when I see one. This dog's perfectly healthy… besides, it belongs to someone. It's got a collar on, look…"

Collins knelt down in front of the dog and Angel, with her protective wall gone, took a few more steps in the other direction, holding her purse in front of her as though it were a shield. Slipping his fingers around the collar, Collins turned it until he could see a little heart-shaped tag that read 'Angel', with an address beneath it. "Aww, Angel, look," Collins said, and both the dog and the human perked up at the mention of their name. "You guys have the same name. You must be soul mates."

"Ick, the very thought of sharing my name with that wretched thing," Angel whined, watching the dog as it made its way to the nearest phone booth and lifted up its leg. "Its got no tact. No tact at all."

Collins laughed more as the snow around the phone booth became yellow, courtesy of the pooch, which trotted back to Collins with a now-empty bladder. The dog skipped around Collins's legs but then went for Angel, who darted this way and that trying to avoid it, shouting at Collins to come to her aid. Collins, however, was distracted by the yellow snow. Without even knowing it, that dog had just provided the inspiration Collins had needed. Picking up the phone, Collins inserted a couple of quarters and dialed the loft's number.

Ignoring Angel's fearful cries in the background, Collins hummed a tune to himself as the phone rang. One, twice, three times, then "SPEAK!"

"Hey Roger? You there?" he asked cautiously, keeping in mind that both his ally and his enemy lived in the same apartment. "I, uh… I have something… confidential to discu-"

A click. "Hello?"

It was Mark's voice, Collins was certain of that. "Hey Mark," he said, trying to sound as casual as possible. "Is Roger there?"

"Yeah, he's in bed with the flu."

"That's too bad," Collins said, wondering how his ally had suddenly come down with the illness. "How'd that happen?"  
Collins could hear Mark laugh, and it would have almost sounded sinister, if Mark were even capable of being anything close to sinister. "Well, it's a funny story, actually," Mark began. "You see, Roger was playing this practical joke on me. He filled our freezer with snow… can you believe that he'd go through all that trouble just to make me miserable?"

"Yeah, Roger's pretty sadistic," Collins said, trying to keep his voice steady to avoid suspicion, for it was he who had actually filled the freezer.

"Yeah. Well, anyway," Mark continued. "He tried to get me to open it, but when we started arguing, _Mimi_ ended up opening the freezer, and she was so pissed off at Roger that she kicked him out of the loft. His own apartment and _she_ kicked him out! Locked the door and everything. I would have let him back in, had I been awake, but I was already asleep by then."

Something about Mark's tone of voice told Collins that Mark had been quite awake when this event occurred. "When it came morning, Mimi had gone off elsewhere, leaving the door unlocked. Roger stumbled in a couple of hours later and just collapsed into his bed and he's been there ever since."

Collins was slightly amused at the irony of the whole situation and greatly relieved that it hadn't been him in Roger's shoes. "Well, I'm sorry to hear about that… I think," Collins sympathized. "But if he's still capable of talking, I'd like to speak with him."

"Oh, he can talk," Mark assured Collins. "Sounds like shit though."

Collins heard the phone being placed on the surface of the table as Mark ran off to fetch Roger. Angel had long since accepted the dog's presence and stood behind Collins, waiting patiently. Listening intently, Collins expected to hear something in the background. Shouting, arguing, complaining, _anything_. But after a long, uneventful silence, Collins heard Roger's rough voice on the other end. "Hello?"

"Hey Roger," Collins said. "I've just come up with the most ingenious idea."

There was a bout of coughing in response, and Collins cringed as the phone smacked into the hardwood floor on the other end. After the coughing had settled, he heard Roger lift the phone back to his ear. "This plan…" Roger continued as though there hadn't been an interruption. "… will it be as much of a fuckup as the last one?"

Even with his voice as weak as it was, Roger had still managed to accentuate the word 'fuck'. Collins laughed nervously, though he knew was so much easier to deal with Roger's anger while he was a few miles away from him. "It's foolproof," Collins insisted, wincing as he heard Roger sneeze suddenly, causing him to drop the phone once more; he waited until he could hear Roger's congested breathing on the other end again before continuing. "But… it'd be in our best interest to wait until you're better."

"I'm better than ever," Roger said, not very convincingly. "Now tell me what it is, I want to know."

"You played in the snow as a child, didn't you?"

The reply was hesitant, filled with confusion. "Yeah… I didn't like it much though. My mom would force me outside."

"Did your mother ever tell you not to eat the yellow snow?"

There was another pause, but this time Collins could tell that Roger knew what he had in mind. He could hear Roger's soft laughter, interjected with coughing, before he spoke. "I like the way your mind works," Roger said slyly.

"Me too," Collins replied with a grin. "I leave you with this parting word… snow cones."

And with that Collins hung up the pay phone, turning to his darling Angel, who now held the little dog in her arms. "I see you've made a new friend there while I was preoccupied," Collins said, observing the two lovingly.

"Do you want to return the dog with me?" Angel asked.

"Of course," Collins said. "Someone's probably missing their little Angel. I know I'd be devastated if my Angel got lost."

Collins bent down slightly and kissed Angel, the dog squirming between them in Angel's arms. After pulling away, Collins wrapped his free arm around Angel's waist and the two continued their walk. After a while of perfecting his plan in his mind, Collins glanced sideways at Angel as she nuzzled her chin into the dog's head. "Hey Angel, what would you say to a winter picnic sometime this week?" Collins asked.

"A picnic!" Angel exclaimed cheerfully, squeezing the air out of the dog as she hugged it to her chest to demonstrate her happiness. "I'd love a picnic! Can we make snow cones to bring?"

"Of course, baby, I'd love to bring snow cones."


	4. Sleeping With The Enemy

**Disclaimer:** Eeyup, guess what goes here.

**A/N:** Just a random little filler chapter. I know you guys are dying to see if Mark eats the yellow snow or not, but I started to write and this is what I came up with. So enjoy!

---

"Dammit, why do you have to be so stubborn!" Mimi yelled at Roger, who sat Indian-style on their bed, surrounded by crumpled tissues. "Can't you just humor me and do what I ask for once!"

"No!" Roger shouted back, his voice still twice as loud as hers even though it was twice as weak, its volume surprising the both of them. "You have no idea what's good for me, so just leave me the hell alone!"

"Roger, please, it's just a picnic," Mimi said pleadingly, her voice quieting down a bit. "I don't see what the big deal is."

"I need to go. I promised Collins."

"Well, honey, he'll understand if you break this little promise," Mimi crooned, soothingly but still firm. "You're sick and you shouldn't be outside at all. He'll in the same boat as we are. He'd understand."

Roger had his head down; he was trying to control his temper. Mimi could see this and folded her arms, sighing with exasperation. She hated how he got so angry over trivial little things like this because it usually ended up making her angry, and anger wasn't a feeling she was very fond of. "Mimi," he started, very slowly. "You have no control over me… I can do whatever I damn well please… and you can't tell me otherwise."

"This is about Mark, isn't it."

Roger blinked, glancing up at Mimi from his position on the bed. "Why would you say that?" he asked as he sat up a little straighter.

"You just want to risk your health and go so you can do something terrible to him. Don't think I don't notice you always scheming to harass the poor boy," Mimi said, unfolding her arms to place her hands on her hips. "You and Collins. I don't know what the deal between you three is, but knowing what a great team you and Collins make, I'm sure it's over something stupid."

Roger stared at her in disbelief. "Whose side are you on, Mimi?"

"Sides!" Mimi threw up her arms, clearly irritated. "What are you, four? I don't know what's going on between everyone, but let me tell you, I hope you grow up and knock this childish bullshit off soon."

Roger stood up suddenly and Mimi's heart gave a little leap, but she remained steadfast and hard as a rock. Even when he approached her she managed to stand as she was instead of backing up against the wall as she often had in similar, previous encounters. He stopped close in front of her, towering above her, but Mimi tilted her head back and stared him straight in the face.

Eyes of sage looked down at her, but they had lost their intensity only minutes ago. Mimi could sense his exhaustion and she knew that both his anger and the task of standing up had drained him. She was no longer angry with him, but she refused to show it. She told herself she wouldn't be the weak one anymore, always breaking down and pleading forgiveness during a fight when she knew very well it was _Roger_ who owed _her_ an apology. So she refused to let her true emotion show through, but to her astonishment, Roger actually leaned down and gave her a gentle hug. She couldn't help but hug back without hesitation.

"I'm sorry, Meems," Roger said calmly into her shoulder, his voice barely audible. "You're right."

Wrapping her arms around Roger, Mimi blinked. That was easy. She should try to be the tough one more often. "I just… don't want you going without me," Roger said. "I know it sounds selfish, but… the idea of you out with Mark and the others while I'm stuck here…"

"Roger," she cooed, working her hand up his back and clutching a fistful of his hair. "I understand. You could have just asked me to stay with you."

She could feel him growing weary in her embrace, and he breathed the next word more than spoke it. "Really?"

"Of course," Mimi said, throwing in an insidious grin as she began to work her fingers through the rougher areas of Roger's hair, satisfied when she heard him moan softly. "I'm sure the two of us will have much more fun here than at some picnic out in the cold."

Roger exhaled slowly in response, getting a hold of Mimi's shirt and tugging at it longingly. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Lieutenant Roger was shouting disapprovingly. "You're cavorting with the enemy!" he scolded himself as the two rolled onto the mattress, pushing the covers and tissues aside as Mimi pulled off Roger's belt.

But another _part_ of Roger was very pleased with this scenario.


	5. Word from the Ally

**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

**A/N:** Yup, here it is, Chapter Five. I know, I know, Mark didn't eat the snow in this chapter either. Next chapter, I promise, cross my heart and hope to die! In this chapter Roger demonstrates his secret agent moves… sorta. Not a very graceful secret agent is he.

---

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Roger was just vaguely aware of the incessant noise that broke through the hazy atmosphere of fading sickness and sexual euphoria. With Mimi's hands clasped around his warm, bare body, he searched the room with his eyes for the source of the beeping, not wanting to disturb her. His gaze finally fell upon his AZT beeper, which sat on his bedside table, just challenging him to defy it. Beep. Beep.

With a groan, Roger reached over and snatched the device up, pressing the button that would silence it. Slamming it unnecessarily fiercely back against the crate, he withdrew his arm back into the warmth of his and Mimi's cocoon of blankets. No sooner did his hand find its way back to its resting spot on Mimi's exposed breast than the beeping decided to start up again. Beep. Beep.

Suppressing a moan of agitation, Roger reached out clumsily again for the AZT beeper and pressed the button a little harder this time, then dropped it to the floor instead of returning it to its regular spot. He then laid flat on his back, his hands folded over his chest, too awake and aggravated by now to nestle back into Mimi. But after a while he felt the foggy feeling of sleepiness take over again, and he allowed his eyes to close as he pressed his head against Mimi, his lips brushing past her bare chest...

Beep.

Throwing his arm over the side of his mattress, Roger scooped the beeper off the floor and flung it at the wall with a snarl. He didn't even realize what he had done until the poor thing broke into three pieces and fell defeatedly to the floor, and even then, just barely awake, he didn't care. Victorious, he fell back into his pillow with a satisfied look on his face, closing his eyes again. But wouldn't you know it? Beep. Beep.

"What the fuuuck," Roger whined, sounding more helpless than angry, clasping the pillow around his ears as if this would make the noise cease; however, the distinctive beeping still reached his ears, seeping through the thin fabric of his pillow.

He sat up for what felt like the umteempth time and looked around the room, inspecting every little object in the vicinity capable of producing such a sound. _Beep, dammit,_ he challenged. _Come on, stop hiding._ He felt as though he was playing Marco Polo with an inanimate object. And though his fever was dwindling, he was still delirious enough to feel compelled to blurt out, "Marco?"

Beep.

Tormented eyes turned hopeful as they darted to the other side of the room. The sound was coming from Mimi's side of the bed and he gazed past her sleeping figure, looking for the object that had been tirelessly harassing him ever since he woke up. Perhaps it was her beeper? Disregarding the rejuvenated lust that seized his body as he leaned over Mimi's naked body, he plucked her AZT beeper from the crate on her side and examined it. It wasn't hers either. The AZT timer almost went the way of Roger's before he remembered that it didn't belong to him and placed it gently back down.

What could possibly be making such a noise?

Beep! Beep!

Now that he was arched over Mimi the sound seemed to be growing in volume. Holding himself over her with both his hands gripping the edge of the mattress, Roger peered underneath the bed, careful not to let himself fall on top of her. His hair fell in front of his face, obstructing his vision and tickling his nose. "Ah… achoo!"

The sneeze was so forceful and unexpected that he tumbled off the bed, sprawling to the floor and laying there, stunned. Mimi made a little noise and Roger clasped his hands over his mouth, watching her as she snuggled deeper into the mattress, vanishing beneath the covers. Slowly he let out the breath he had been holding in, leaning forward very slowly, each move cautious and calculated.

He saw an odd mechanism underneath their bed and abandoned his tentativeness to grab for it. It was a walkie-talkie, and now that it was in his possession it sounded a congratulatory beep. The beeping was much louder now that the device was out in the open, and Roger quickly stuffed it into the pocket of the nearest jacket to muffle the sound. Slipping on some boxers and a pair of raggedy jeans, Roger dragged the jacket out of the room, walking on his tiptoes and closing the door behind him.

Once he had reached the safety of the main room, Roger pulled the walkie-talkie out and slipped on the jacket. His eyes speculated the series of buttons the walkie-talkie sported before spotting a large rectangular button on the side of the device. Pressing it, he lifted the walkie-talkie gingerly to his mouth and spoke in an unsure tone. "… Collins?"

Slipping his thumb off the button, he awaited a reply, his ear pressed against the speaker as he made his way over to the windowsill. Leaping up, he nearly fell back down again when Collins's voice exploded into his ear. "Roger! Hey! Man, where are you?"

Peering out the window, Roger found that he could see the park from his position. There were small flecks that he assumed to be children, and among them much larger specks; he took the one decked out in rainbow attire to be Angel and beside that one, a figure of gray and white with a head of blonde hair. Roger's grip tightened involuntarily around the walkie-talkie; it was Mark. But where was Collins?

"Mimi insisted I stay home," Roger said quietly, his eyes scanning the park for a Collins speck.

Without a moment's delay Roger could hear Collins making the sound of a cracking whip over the walkie-talkie. Clutching the walkie-talkie even harder, he spat back. "Knock it off!" he snapped, then calmed down a little before adding in a smutty tone, "Besides… with what she was promising to do to me if I stayed, how could I refuse?"

Collins's low laughter came over the walkie-talkie before he spoke. "Look, man, I'm dying out here," Collins said desperately. "I'm a terrible liar and I don't think I can possibly give Mark a snow cone without laughing 'till I piss myself."

"Thank you for that image."

"Just get out here," Collins said in a hurried voice. "Look, I gotta go, Angel and Mark are coming this way. I need your help pronto."

And with that, the walkie-talkie fell silence. No more beeping. Roger was almost tempted to crawl back into his bed where it was warm with Mimi, but he was already too awake to even consider the idea. Stuffing the walkie-talkie into his pocket, Roger left the loft, ready to finally put Operation: Snow Cone into action.


	6. Roger's Last Stand

**Disclaimer:** Not mine.

**A/N:** Yes, here's the chapter you've all been waiting for… yellow snow cones will be consumed, I can guarantee you that (God, I'm so sadistic and the poor little Bohos have to suffer for it). But will Mark be the one eating the snow cones, or will plans yet again backfire? Read on to find the answer!

Shoulders squared, jaw firm, with an all-too-apparent 'man on a mission' demeanor, Roger strode down the sidewalk, eyes set on the park in the distance. His was a look of such determination that his fellow pedestrians stepped aside, not out of courtesy but fear of being plowed down by his unwavering gait. Little kids stopped their giggling to gape as he passed by, and elderly folk observed him with reverence. Had his life been a movie, this segment of Roger walking down the street would be backed by a cheesy yet inspirational and purposeful theme song.

That is, until he slipped on a patch of ice and fell down. Then it would have gone 'Wah wah wahhhh'.

"Holy fuck!" Roger yelped out in surprise as his back made contact with the very hard, very cold concrete.

Almost immediately a small face came into his line of vision, and Roger found himself staring up the snotty nostrils of a severely freckled six-year-old. "You okay mister?" he asked, sounding disgustingly congested.

Roger scrambled away, still on his back, beginning to regret even leaving the loft in the first place. The outside world wasn't a place for him; he should just turn around and go back. Mimi would be there, after all, and a couple minutes with her was always better than settling some weeklong grudge.

Forgetting his whereabouts for a minute, Roger closed his eyes and smiled in ecstasy at the very thought of Mimi, the way the sweat gleamed on her smooth skin after a strenuous session of lovemaking, the way she still had enough energy afterwards to engage in vigorous play-wrestling, the little birthmark she had on her-

Roger was jolted suddenly from his reminiscing by a blow from some woman's purse. "Fuck, lady!" he exclaimed after having his thoughts so rudely interrupted.

"What are you, some kind of pedophile?" the lady shrieked, eyeing Roger's lower region and clutching the six-year-old at her side.

"Jesus, no!" Roger defended himself, grabbing at the wall behind him and pulling himself to his feet. "Why are you even looking down there?"

Without answering, the woman dealt Roger another blow with her purse, thumping him violently on the nose before fleeing, grasping at the child's arm. Roger cursed again and cupped his hand over his nose, his vision beginning to dim. It was official; he was far too pissed-off to just retreat, crawl defeatedly back to the loft and wave the white flag. He needed to kill something, particularly a blonde-headed bespectacled something.

Well, maybe not kill. But he was sure watching Mark eat yellow snow would appease his anger better than any bloodshed.

Driven on by feelings of hostility, Roger set off once more towards the park, this time more determined than ever, if it even seemed possible. He entered the park and strode over to the swing set, where Angel sat, Collins behind her. Mark stood off to the side, his camera in his hands as he videotaped the smiling Angel while Collins pushed her on the swing.

Lips trembling with repressed feelings of malice, Roger forced a pained smile and muttered a greeting. Angel jumped off the swing, landing perfectly before Roger and saluting him with a giggle and a wink. At first he was confused, but then it hit Roger and he returned the wink. Another ally. This brought him reassurance, seeing as now his enemy was surrounded.

"Hey Rog," Mark chirped, lowering his camera to offer him a grin. "So you finally decided to show up?"

"No shit, Sherlock, I'm here, aren't I?"

Apparently Mark hadn't expected such an acerbic response because he suddenly took on a look of dread. Roger sneered in a self-satisfied way. He loved having the power to frighten Mark, to make him jump at the slightest glare or remark, and he used it to his advantage. "Well," Roger said, leaning over and scooping up a handful of snow, then molding it sardonically into a ball. "Shall we have a snowball fight?"

Mark began to shiver with fear of the inevitable, but this only fueled Roger to roll the ball tauntingly around in his hand before chucking it suddenly in Mark's direction. Squeaking, Mark leapt out of the way, and the snowball smashed to pieces against the slide a few yards away from him. "Come on, Mark, it's just a little snow, it won't hurt you," Roger jeered, picking up another hefty amount of snow and setting to work on it.

"Please, no snowballs," Mark whined, defeated.

With a look of triumph Roger allowed the dribbly snow to slip through his fingers. Angel, who was a lot better at feigning camaraderie towards Mark, raised her hand in the air to get their attention. "Well, snow balls are no fun, but what do you say to snow cones?"

Just to avoid suspicion, Roger answered with an utterance of "Uck".

Mark, seeing that if Roger disagreed with it than it must be safe, was quick to assent. Angel pranced over to a small yellow plastic box and pulled off the lid, revealing an array of colorful snow cones. There was one for each of them, a pink one, a red one, a green one, and, of course, the fateful yellow one. At once Angel snatched the pink one for herself, and immediately afterwards Collins claimed the red one.

Now only the green and yellow cones remained. Roger found the green cone appealing, for he preferred the color green to yellow any day, but then he suddenly remembered the importance of getting the green cone. If Mark got to it first, Roger would be stuck with the piss-cone, and not eating it or trying to make Mark trade with him would be too suspicious.

Roger made a move for the green cone but Mark was already there, observing both treats meticulously. Before Mark could make his choice Roger snatched the lime one out from under his nose and even licked it in case Mark protested. Mark didn't seem to mind, and without an argument he picked up the last snow cone. The yellow snow cone. Everything was going according to plan.

"A toast," Roger proposed, holding up his cone, "to our good fortune." And by 'our', I most definitely don't mean Mark's.

Like a serpent of wickedness Roger shot his tongue out, savoring the flavors of lime ice and victory. He watched as, without hesitation, Mark delved into his snow cone, but his reaction was the farthest thing from what Roger expected.

"Mmm, lemon."

Roger stopped slurping to spit a mouthful of lime-flavored slush to the ground. "_Lemon?_" he hissed.

With a giggle Angel jumped gleefully into the air. "Collins told me that Roger suggested we make a special lemon cone for you!" Angel squealed giddily. "They said lemon was your favorite. I just knew you'd like it."

Collins was making the strangest face in Roger's direction, his eyes telling Roger clearer than words that the cone he had prepared for Mark contained canine urine, without a doubt. Yet here Mark stood, enjoying an undeniably lemon-flavored snow cone, with Angel, whom Roger mistook to be an ally, confirming that it was, in fact, a harmless, piss-free snow cone.

"Baby, are these the cones I made?" Collins asked in a controlled tone that denied his true feelings.

"Oh, honey, I threw those away," Angel said, wrinkling her nose as she recalled finding them in the freezer. "They smelled like piss."

Mark gasped knowingly and stared half in disbelief, half in relief at Roger. Without a second thought or explanation Roger threw his lime cone forcefully to the ground and stomped away from the group, avoiding even looking at Mark. _Another plan foiled! I can never fucking win!_

Roger journeyed back to the loft in a huff, his temper flaring up beyond its normal limitations. There was no possible way he could win. Either through the stupidity and carelessness of others or through Mark's random phases of cleverness, Roger's plans had failed. There was no fucking way to win this war. And he sure as hell wouldn't surrender.

Suddenly it struck him as he entered his apartment. "What am I doing?"

It was that severe of a realization that he actually found himself speaking it out loud. Why was he even in this war, anyway? It was Roger's sadism at its finest, just his tortuous personality getting a little out of control. But otherwise there was nothing to lose, nothing to gain… only a fool would continue fighting such a war. And Roger Davis was no fool. He knew that a situation like this called for a truce. It would save him the indignity of just surrendering, and if he could propose an armistice first then it would still prove him superior to Mark. I'm too damn merciful. Mark's a lucky bastard.

"Yes, honey, what are you doing out of bed?"

Roger jumped but quickly tried to guise it as a dance, because Lieutenant Roger the Merciful Yet Still Very Powerful was not easily startled. He waltzed toward Mimi, who was still groggy with sleep and had her blanket wrapped around her unclothed body. Taking Mimi's hands in his, Roger nimbly changed the waltz to a tango and led a disoriented Mimi back to the bedroom. "Ready for round two?" Roger purred, scooping Mimi off her feet and waking her up with a sensual kiss.

Now fully conscious, Mimi swung an arm around Roger's neck and allowed her other hand to wander the lower region of his body. Pulling his lips away to take a few short breaths, Roger took the time to grin at Mimi. "Thank you for making me stay home earlier," Roger said as he sat down on the edge of their mattress, Mimi still in his arms. "You were right, I was being completely immature. Sometimes I let the child in me take over."

"Well, I hope the child is gone now, because now it's the adults' turn for playtime," Mimi whispered, nuzzling her nose against Roger's neck like a cat in need of attention.

This war was a victory in Roger's eyes, and he enjoyed the spoils of war for the rest of the night.


End file.
